


What Comfort in Truth

by fromaLongLineofTVDetectives



Series: 2017 Trope Challenge Fics [6]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromaLongLineofTVDetectives/pseuds/fromaLongLineofTVDetectives
Summary: Rosie returns to Melbourne to testify at Sidney Fletcher's trial and unexpectedly lodges for the night at Wardlow. While there, she asks Jack an uncomfortable question. My second entry for this month's challenge prompt.





	1. A question

**Author's Note:**

> A short, provocative, beginning. Second chapter to follow very soon.

“Do you love her more than you once loved me?” 

Rosie’s question — Jack pondered, in the dim light of the bedroom he now shared with Phryne at Wardlow — was honest, direct, and not entirely unwarranted given the strange circumstance they found themselves in this evening. 

Jack had dodged the question and fled the room, although he knew, beyond any doubt, the simple answer. 

He circled round the matter again in his own head, letting himself slightly off the hook in the second pass. He hadn’t fled the room, exactly, as much as he had stammered awkwardly, then ended the conversation with excuses about the exhaustion of the day and the lateness of the hour. He’d made sure Rosie had everything she needed for the evening, shown her to her guest room, and made plans for transportation to the courthouse in the morning. 

But for all the exterior propriety and politeness, Jack knew he hadn’t given Rosie what she most wanted — a simple answer to a simple question. 

Truth was a serious matter, of course. Jack felt that he owed Rosie the truth — that he owed the full truth to everyone he cared about, and, indeed, to many he didn’t. Weren’t they all headed to a courtroom tomorrow to swear oaths and testify in public to the most unpleasant sorts of truth in Sidney Fletcher's trial? Wasn’t it better, for everyone, when truths come out? 

And yet… 

“Do you love her more than you once loved me?” 

Jack felt a nagging guilt, suspecting that there was more cowardice in escaping Rosie's question than there was kindness in not vocalizing the answer. 

And why wasn't Phryne home yet? 

Jack poured a finger of whiskey and waited. 


	2. Rosie at Wardlow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, it feels right to post this scene by scene — perhaps because it's a series of interior dramas with different points of view. In any case, this is scene 2, with two movements to follow.

**Earlier that afternoon…**

“Rosie, please come in. I’m so glad Hugh put your call through!” Phryne Fisher, at her warmest and most exuberant, welcomed Jack’s ex-wife into the parlor at Wardlow. “Mr. Butler will take your things upstairs to the guest room. Can we offer you some tea, or maybe something stronger?” 

“Miss Fisher, I’m not quite sure what to say…,” Rosie faltered, feeling that she’d been carried to the doorstep in the wake of a current of decisions that weren’t entirely her own. 

“I do wish you’d call me Phryne.” 

“Phryne, yes. I don’t want to intrude. Jack…” 

“Would insist that you stay, if you had nowhere else to go.” 

Rosie stepped inside. What else was there to do when the efficient butler had already taken her coat and her overnight bag. She took the seat and the drink that Phryne offered. 

“It’s just that I was so surprised when the phone number to Jack’s cottage had been disconnected,” Rosie continued. “I took a cab from the train station to City South.” 

“Of course.” 

“When Jack wasn’t there either, I asked Constable Collins how I could reach Jack at home. He picked up the phone…” 

“And the next thing you knew you were talking to me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I can see how that might be a bit of shock.” 

“I had heard you were back to London.” 

“I was, for a time.” Phryne elongated her reply, attempting to read in Rosie’s features just how much she knew of the intervening months. 

Rosie simply nodded. “I missed the news of your return. I suppose I missed a great deal of news.” 

Mr. Butler appeared in the parlor doorway. “Miss Fisher, the Inspector is on the phone.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Phryne said, rising from her chair. “Rosie, please excuse me.” 

As Phryne passed by, Rosie looked, discretely she hoped, for a ring on Phryne’s hand, but her view was obscured. She felt unmoored. How could the Jack Robinson she knew — the upright man she was married to for sixteen years — have turned into the kind of man who would live openly with a woman who not his wife? 

Phryne took the phone call in the hallway, careful to leave the parlor doors open. She didn’t wish to hide anything from Rosie, who was clearly bewildered by the turn of events. 

“Jack,” she said into the receiver. “Yes, she’s here.” 

A pause. 

“I don’t know, exactly. Some sort of mix-up at the hotel.” 

A pause. Phryne made eye contact with Rosie, offering a smile that she hoped conveyed something of womanly solidarity regarding the managing of men on the opposite ends of telephones. 

“Don’t be silly. We have the room. Someone should use it. We’re all headed to the same place tomorrow.” 

Another pause. 

“It’s all settled, Jack. We’ll see you at dinner.” 

Rosie relaxed. Jack’s presence would make things easier. 

“I love you too darling,” Phryne said, in the easy manner of a woman who said this to the man on the other end of the phone several times a day. 

There was a time Rosie was that woman. But now she was utterly alone. 


	3. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we re-approach Chapter 1's question from Rosie's angle, as long repressed feelings spill out when she's left alone with Jack. Phryne's take to follow next chapter...

Phryne returned to the dinner table as Mr. Butler was clearing the dessert dishes. “Anything else for you, Miss Fisher?” he asked. 

“No thank you, Mr. Butler. I have to head out in a minute,” she said brightly. 

Phryne stood near Jack’s chair and didn’t retake her own seat. “That was Dot on the phone,” she told him. “She’s found something interesting in the real estate records for the Stuart case.” 

“The one with the contested will?” Jack replied. “Surely that can wait.” 

“I don’t think it can,” Phryne answered. “We don’t know how long we’ll be tied up with the trial tomorrow. If I review Dot’s findings tonight, she can make more headway tomorrow.” 

Jack nodded, this being a routine sort of conversation for their household. 

“Rosie,” she continued. “You’ll have to be content with Jack’s hospitality for the rest of the evening, I’m afraid. I’ll see you in the morning.” After Rosie’s acknowledgement, she turned her attention back to Jack, brushing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t wait up,” she said with a flirty smile. Jack squeezed her hand in response, and she was off. 

It took mere moments for the silence between Jack and Rosie to rocket from awkward to agonizing. 

“Perhaps we’d be more comfortable in the parlor,” Jack attempted, “or if you’d prefer to turn in?” 

“I never imagined you here, Jack.” 

“We’ll be in a smaller place soon,” he replied, choosing to answer the surface question though he sensed Rosie's full meaning. “Wardlow’s too much house, really, and with the downturn continuing.” 

Rosie had little patience for discussing real estate or world financial headlines. 

“Are you marrying her?” 

“We’re not engaged,” he said evenly, pushing back from the table. “It’s not Phryne’s preference.” 

Rosie stared at him unblinking. 

“We’re together, Rosie. Phryne and I are as committed to one another as any married couple.” 

“Oh, I can see that, Jack,” she replied with edge, pushing her own chair back from the dining table. 

“Why does this anger you?” he asked, his own anger rising in response. “No, don’t answer. I don’t think we should have this conversation.” 

“What conversation should we have then? The one where I didn’t know that my fiancé was facilitating the slavery of young girls. The one where my admirable father assisted him. The one where I was too blinded, or too stupid to see that the two men I trusted most were nothing like what I assumed them to be. Or will we have enough of that conversation tomorrow at the courthouse.” 

Rosie was now near the state Jack had found her in that night of the events on the Pandarus. He couldn’t blame shock this time. 

“Rosie, please.” His voice softened and he moved towards her, instinctively moving to comfort her as he had done that night. But Rosie avoided his embrace. She didn’t sob, or collapse into him as she once had done. 

“Stop, Jack. It’s humiliating," she continued. "Here, in her house. No. I leave town in shame, but the Honorable Phryne Fisher gets everything she wants, on her own terms.” 

“No one blames you for Sidney Fletcher’s actions,” he replied, exasperated. 

“Don’t they? Shouldn’t I have seen? Observed? Intuited? Phryne Fisher would have.” 

“That’s a ridiculous comparison.” 

“Is it? It’s a ridiculous circumstance, Jack. But here we are.” 

Jack was stymied. There was nothing in his arsenal to deal with this version of Rosie tonight. He waved the white flag. “I’m going upstairs. Let Mr. Butler know if there’s anything else he can get for you.” 

He nearly made it the bedroom without further injury, but Rosie followed him to the entryway before he could reach the first stair. 

“Answer one thing for me, Jack. Honestly. You owe me that much,” she said, her voice quieter now as anger modulated dangerously close to defeat. “Do you love her more than you once loved me?” 


	4. Empathy

**Later that night**

“Jack, you can’t hold her to any of the things she said. Not when she’s hurting like this.” 

Phryne returned home from Dot’s to find Jack brooding in the bedroom, several whiskeys under his belt. He kissed her passionately, made love to her thoroughly, and only then, nestled in their bed against the pillows, spoke of what had transpired with Rosie while Phryne was out. 

“I’m afraid I made things worse by dodging the question,” he responded. 

“It wasn’t a fair question. I don’t quantify or compare love that way. I don’t think Rosie would either, if she were in a better frame of mind.” 

“I don’t like the way she spoke about you,” he continued. 

“That’s noble, Inspector” Phryne answered. “But people have said much worse about me. They’ll say worse in the future.” 

“But those aren’t people I care about,” he said. 

“Precisely.” 

“Precisely what?” 

“That’s what Rosie needed to hear, Jack. That you still care about her, even now.” 

“I couldn’t comfort her, Phryne. She was so angry.” 

“Then we have to try harder. Tomorrow will be worse for her. Taking the stand. Testifying against a man she once loved.” 

“You sincerely do care about her.” 

“I care about anyone you love, Jack Robinson. She needs us right now.” 

Jack kissed Phryne good night and pulled her into a tight embrace. 

Phryne turned philosophical before drifting off to sleep. “The English language needs more words for love, don’t you think? We tie ourselves in knots trying to make one word do for a variety of emotion.” 

“I love you,” was his answer, and he meant in every sense of the word. 


	5. Catharsis

**Very early the next morning**

Several hours later Phryne padded downstairs to the kitchen, wrapped only in her favorite black silk robe. Reaching the kitchen, she realized Rosie was there ahead of her, sitting at the table in the near dark, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of hot tea. 

“Rosie,” Phryne called softly. “It’s Phryne. I didn’t want to startle you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rosie stammered, pushing back her chair. “I’ll go.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Phryne said firmly, but with a hint of a laugh that aimed for friendly banter. “I invited you to make yourself at home, and that includes having tea in the kitchen at four a.m. if that’s what strikes your fancy.” 

Rosie did as she was told. Anything else felt like too much effort at this moment. 

Phryne busied herself about the kitchen, refilling the tea kettle and setting it to boil, shutting the door to that led to Mr. Butler’s rooms — he’s a light sleeper, she offered — rummaging through the refrigerator for something to nibble on. 

She gave Rosie space, but watched for an opportunity. It came through a sketch book on the kitchen table. 

Rosie flipped idly through the sketches while Phryne made the tea, then found her attention drawn to a particularly well-rendered drawing of a young girl with blond braids and blue hair ribbons. 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Phryne said softly. “My ward, Jane — I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet — sent her portfolio earlier this week. She’s away at school and has discovered a new talent for art.” 

“I didn’t know,” Rosie said softly, struck suddenly by the notion that Phryne Fisher might not be at all like the person she had imagined her to be. 

“The sketch is Jane’s imagining of my younger sister, also called Jane, coincidentally enough. I lost her when we were both very young. I don’t suppose Jack’s told you any of this.” 

“No.” 

Phryne sat opposite Rosie at the kitchen table and continued. 

“I grew up in Collingwood. Desperately poor at times.” 

Rosie couldn’t help but note that there was no trace of shame in Phryne’s voice as she revealed this secret. It was simply part of who she was. 

“One brilliant sunny afternoon Janey and I snuck into a traveling circus to watch the performance. She was abducted, and later killed. For a very long time I blamed myself.” 

Phryne voice remained even as she recounted the facts. Rosie gave Phryne her full attention, drawn into her simple recitation of the story. 

“Jack helped me to see that I wasn’t responsible. ‘I dismiss the charges’ he said. Eventually, I learned to absolve myself.” 

Rosie’s eyes brimmed with tears — for Phryne, for her lost sister, for herself, for all of them at once. 

Phryne extended her hand to Rosie across the kitchen table. “You’re welcome here, for as long as you like.” 

Sometime later that day, Phryne watched from the courtroom as Rosie delivered her testimony against Sidney Fletcher, her voice confident and strong. She didn’t waver when Fletcher’s lawyer attempted to use her words against her, or when he insinuated that there was something deficient in her own character. 

Phryne met her in the aisle after she completed her testimony, taking her hand and leading her gently from the courtroom to a quiet outer corridor. 

“You were very brave, Rosie,” she said. 

Rosie folded her head onto Phryne’s shoulder and sobbed. Phryne held her close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note of thanks to those who propose these monthly prompts, write and read and comment. This story forced me to dive deeper into Rosie's pain than I was initially prepared to do, but I believe I've come out the other side the better for it.
> 
> Although I wanted to do a story with Rosie from the moment the prompt was suggested, I couldn't conceive of the dramatic arc until I spent some time with this remarkable quote that [Essie Davis gave to Backstage magazine](https://www.backstage.com/news/essie-davis-tackling-singing-and-nudity/) over a decade ago, when she was on Broadway in Tom Stoppard's "Jumpers". The interviewer asked what she wants from audiences, and this was her response. "I want them to be moved -- moved to a place where they can listen with generosity to the fragile people in their lives." This story was my attempt to do justice to that sentiment.


End file.
